


In Violation of Article Two

by ibonekoen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coping with Grief, Drunkenness, Early in Killian's pirate days, Gen, Lieutenant Killian Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibonekoen/pseuds/ibonekoen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Killian Jones believed in the naval code. He'd memorized every line, word for word, and could quote it from memory. To find himself in violation of even a single article would've been bad form and completely unacceptable. Captain Killian Jones, on the other hand, struggles to cope with his brother's death, and that flask of rum he's just confiscated from a sailor looks awfully bloody tempting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Violation of Article Two

**Author's Note:**

> I originally found the prompt for this on Tumblr; however, the person has since deleted the post, so I can't link to it.
> 
> In reference to the title, Article Two of the Articles of War reads as follows: _All flag officers, and all persons in or belonging to His Majesty's ships or vessels of war, being guilty of profane oaths, cursings, execrations, drunkenness, uncleanness, or other scandalous actions, in derogation of God's honour, and corruption of good manners, shall incur such punishment as a court martial shall think fit to impose, and as the nature and degree of their offence shall deserve._

The Jewel of the Realm may have been rechristened the Jolly Roger and her crew now sailed under a crimson flag, but some habits died hard for her captain. So, after every port of call, Killian Jones gathered his men on the deck and gave them a thorough inspection, just as he had as Lieutenant.

He frowned as he removed a flask from a sailor’s jacket pocket, and he sighed as he held the offending object aloft. “What have I said about rum and sailors, men?”

“With all due respect, Captain, we’re not in the Navy anymore,” said Thomas, the master bosun, as he stepped forward. “We thought the rules on that might be a bit more lax.” Around them, a few of the men added a chorus of agreeing murmurs.

Killian frowned and tightened his hand around the leather flask. He didn’t pitch it into the sea though. “To your stations, men. Take us out to sea.” He turned away from the gathered men and headed toward the aft of the ship to take his place at the helm. He considered again just tossing the flask overboard, but something made him tuck it into a pocket inside his coat instead. He returned the glare given to him by the sailor from whom he’d confiscated the flask, and he called out orders to the rest of his men as they began to pull away from the island port, a safe haven for pirates to trade and hide.

-~-✭✭-~-

Killian didn’t think of the flask again until he was alone in his cabin that night. He shrugged his coat off and frowned at the lump in his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out the flask and scoffed. He walked over to the porthole and opened it, intending to throw the flask out, but he hesitated. He’d always been taught that rum was a vile drink that turned even the most respectable men into scoundrels, and that drunk sailors were bad form.

And yet…

His fingers closed tight around the flask and he stepped back from the porthole, closing the cover and latching it back into place. He moved over to the desk and set the flask down, and then turned his back on it. He’d get rid of it later.

Crossing over to the bunk, he sat down and busied himself with the task of removing his boots. His eyes kept flicking back to the flask as he stood up and undressed. As he dressed in his sleep pants, thoughts of Liam flashed through his mind — laughing together, the day he’d been sworn into the navy with Liam at his side, being teased by Liam and called his little brother no matter how many times he tried to correct Liam to _younger_ brother. Liam almost dying in his arms and then miraculously reviving after Killian had given him the magical water.

The two of them eager to stand against their king and tell the people of the cowardice their king had shown. Liam collapsing, the life ripped right out of him as soon as the ship touched their home waters.

Killian’s ears rang with an anguished howl, and through a curtain of tears, he saw himself grab the flask and thumb off the lid. He hesitated only seconds before he lifted it to his lips, and he tilted his head back as he took a healthy swig. The rum burned its way down his throat before settling warmly in his belly, and—

For the first time since Liam’s death, Killian felt as if he could breathe a little easier. As if the weight of guilt and grief wouldn’t crush him at any moment.

His backside hit the hard planks of the floor as he slipped down, his back against the bunk, and he laughed over the pounding on the door, ignoring the gruff “Captain?” that came from the other side of the cabin door.

“I’m fine, Thomas!” he called as the knocking resumed. “Go back to your post!” He took another, heartier swig of the rum, enjoying the burn. A vile drink, indeed. So vile, he thought he’d have some more.

And perhaps some more. Followed by — oh yes! Some more!

-~-✭✭-~-

“Captain on the deck!” came the shout from one of the sailors as Killian weaved a teetering path up the stairs, and everyone snapped to attention. For unfathomable reasons, Killian found that quite hysterical, and he laughed, waving a dismissive hand.

“At ease, men,” he insisted. He snickered and bumped into a sailor, stumbling back.

Thomas moved forward, a concerned frown furrowing his brow. “Captain, are you alright?”

Killian’s eyes lit up and he stumbled forward, one hand laying flat on Thomas’ chest to steady himself. “Mas’er Boshun Thomas! Jus’ the man I wanted t’see!” He leaned heavily on his friend, nearly collapsing in a fit of giggles.

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he bore the weight of his captain and somehow managed to keep him upright. “Captain, are you—?” He racked his brain, wondering what could’ve caused this extreme change in his otherwise straight-laced and grim captain, and his eyes widened as he leaned in to catch a whiff of the captain’s breath. “Are you _drunk_?”

Killian laughed again and nodded, and then changed his mind and shook his head. “I mean, no!” He harrumphed and tried to straighten to his full height. “No. Because I am captain and drinking leads to—” He snorted a giggle as his stern expression started to melt into a grin, and he bit his lip. “—leads to bad f-form.”

Thomas grimaced and moved toward the stairs, taking hold of his captain’s upper arms. “Let’s get you below deck, sir.”

“No! No, ‘m fine!” Killian tried to shake off Thomas’ hands. “I am _fine_. Unhand me.”

Killian’s struggles only made Thomas’ grip tighten, and he hissed through clenched teeth. “Thomas, I _order_ you to release me.” Thankfully, that came out in an unwavering tone, not a single hint of a stutter or slurred word.

Thomas shook his head and frowned. “Captain, I really think you need to go to your cabin before the men—” He cut off and glanced around him with a grimace.

Killian followed his master bosun’s gaze and snickered at the gaggle of men gathered around them. “Back to your posts, men. Everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat and successfully shrugged off Thomas’ hands, clasping his behind his back. He squared his shoulders and boldly strode toward the steps that would lead him up to the helm.

His balance off, his foot hit the edge of the second step and slipped, and he pitched forward, slamming into the deck. Something in his nose went crunch, and his vision swam as he swore. “ _Ow_ , fuck!”

“Christ, Captain!” Thomas darted forward and took hold of Killian’s arm, helping him sit up.

“I tink I brode my nose,” Killian muttered before his eyes rolled up in and he fell backwards.

-~-✭✭-~-

Killian woke to stabbing pain radiating across his skull. Everything hurt — even his _teeth_ — and the bright sunlight streaming through the porthole of his cabin made nausea roil over him. He tried to move, tried to lift his arm to shield his face, but even the _thought_ of attempting to move had his stomach churning.

“Easy there, Captain. You’ve had a hell of a night.”

It took him a second to recognize Thomas’ voice, and then something wet and cool touched his forehead. He managed to open one eye and flushed with embarrassment as he realized Thomas was wiping down his face. 

“You’ll be pleased to know your nose ain’t broke, Captain,” Thomas said kindly.

“Oh good.” Killian frowned, a bit distracted, as he tried to remember what had happened. When pieces started to fall in together, he groaned. “Oh god, I—” He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the thought. He couldn’t even look his friend in the eye.

“You had a rough night, Captain. You drank Gibson’s rum, and we both know you don’t drink much.” Thomas gave him a wry grin; they’d known each other since Killian had first joined the Navy, and they’d been fast friends from the start.

Killian shook his head, still embarrassed. “Oh god, the men must think—”

“— that you’re feeling unwell and have vowed to carry on quietly and not disturb you. Don’t worry about a thing, Captain.”

His throat thick with emotion and his head still throbbing, Killian slumped back against the pillows. “Thank you, Thomas, you’re a good friend.” He lay quiet for a few moments as he watched Thomas drape some cloth over the porthole. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we, Thomas?”

“Aye, Captain, and we’ll get through this.”

Killian made a noncommittal noise that turned into a blissful sigh as the light of the cabin dimmed. The throbbing pain in his head eased off, and as Thomas moved back over to the bed to collect the rag he’d used to wipe Killian’s forehead, the bosun's eyes softened. “You should sleep, sir. It’ll help with your headache.”

Killian grimaced, and he wanted nothing more than to punch that pitying look right off Thomas’ face. “Fine.”

Thomas snorted and grinned. “Don’t look so dour about it, Captain. Get some rest. We’ll be in Tortuga in a few days. You can do your forgetting there.”

Killian turned his head away and missed the sympathetic look in Thomas’ eyes. “Go back to your duties, master bosun,” he said flatly.

“Aye, Captain.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as Thomas’ footsteps retreated, and he rolled over, pressing his face into his pillows to the the hot rush of tears.

He didn’t even notice himself drifting off to sleep once he’d run out.

-~-✭✭-~-

When he awoke some time later, the cabin was nearly pitch black, and he cursed as he rolled over and attempted to find the matches. Somehow, through a small miracle or two, he managed to not only find the matches but light one without setting his cot on fire. In a matter of moments, the candle on his desk cheerfully burned, lighting the cabin enough that he could find his way around and get dressed.

He’d uncapped the flask and taken a swig before he’d even realized it, and he marveled at how much less the rum burned. He also grimaced as he realized that had been the last swallow, and he made his way up to the top deck.

Three days to Tortuga, Thomas had said.

“Master Bosun,” he called across the deck as he emerged from below. “An addition to your supply list when we reach Tortuga.” He made sure that he spoke loudly as the whole crew could hear him. He smirked slightly at the curious expression on their faces.

He waited another moment, letting the tension build, and then his smirk widened. “ _Rum_.”

He ignored the disappointed and disapproving look on Thomas’ face, choosing to revel in the men’s cheers instead.


End file.
